Different Strokes for Different Folks
by Publicola
Summary: Harry Potter shows up in the middle of the Council of Elrond, and shows them why all magic is equal, but some magics are more equal than others. Brace yourself: it's a Harry Potter/Lord of the Rings crossover kinda-sorta crack!fic one-shot.


Disclaimer: This one-shot contains content from the film script for "The Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Rings." I don't own it, the books, nor the Harry Potter series. Those belong to Jackson, Tolkien, and Rowling, in turn.

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**Different Strokes for Different Folks**

Elrond welcomed them, "Strangers from distant lands, friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle Earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite or you will fate. Each race is bound to this fate – this one doom." He gestured, "Bring forth the ring, Frodo."

Murmurs broke out as the young hobbit placed the Ring on the pedestal.

"So it is true," said Boromir of Gondor. After several moments of silence – the Ring whispering to each in turn – Boromir rose. "In a dream I saw the eastern sky grow dark. But in the West a pale light lingered. A voice was crying: Your doom is near at hand. Isildur's Bane is found." By now his hand was hovering over the Ring, "Isildur's Bane…."

"Boromir!" Elrond's voice resounded with a crack.

Then the Ring could be heard to speak, a harsh chant in the language of Mordor, and the words were echoed by Gandalf the Grey. "One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them; One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them."

Elrond rebuked him, "Never before has any voice uttered the words of that tongue here in Imladris!"

"I do not ask your pardon, master Elrond," Gandalf replied, "for the Black Speech of Mordor may yet be heard in every corner of the West! The Ring is altogether Evil!" With that he glared at Boromir and sat.

Boromir was unmoved, and began pleading with the others. "It is a gift – a gift to the foes of Mordor. Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, kept the forces of Mordor at bay. By the blood of our people are your lands kept safe! Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy. Let us use it against him!"

"You cannot wield it!" cried the unnamed Ranger. "None of us can. The One Ring answers to Sauron alone – it has no other master."

Boromir scoffed, "And what would a Ranger know of this matter?"

One of the elves stood, "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn: you owe him your allegiance."

"Aragorn?" Boromir said numbly. "This… is Isildur's heir?"

"And heir to the throne of Gondor!"

"Sit down, Legolas," said Aragorn in the elvish tongue.

Boromir shook himself and returned to his seat. "Gondor has no king. Gondor needs no king."

"Aragorn is right," Gandalf interjected. "We cannot use it."

"You only have one choice: the Ring must be destroyed."

"Then what are we waiting for?" One of the dwarves leap to his feat and grabbed an axe, bringing it down upon the Ring with a mighty blow and battle cry.

With a jolt of light and energy he was sent tumbling backwards, the axe broken but the Ring intact. The wave of energy that repelled him continued outward, pushing the others back into their seats. In that moment Frodo winced in pain, as his mind was invaded by a vision of the Eye of Sauron.

Looking at the young hobbit with concern, Gandalf did not notice as air around the pedestal shimmered as the Ring's energy passed through it.

"The Ring cannot be destroyed, Gimli son of Glóin, by any craft…" Elrond began, before trailing off as he too saw the air begin to warp.

It was an incongruous sight, watching at the air stretched and thinned, rolling in a mirage-like haze. The members of the Council watched in a wary silence, many rising to their feet. Nearly a minute after it had begun, whatever it was, the air suddenly shifted, solidifying into curtains of mist, more than transparent but less than opaque.

"What devilry is this?" Boromir murmured in wonder.

He did not have to wonder for long. No sooner had he spoken than the curtains parted, and out of it tumbled the figure of a young man, dressed in torn and bloodied robes.

The man fell to the ground, yelping as his knees struck the stones below. "Agh!" Then he froze, his eyes moving between each of the members of the Council. "Am I dead?"

No one knew how to respond to that.

The man asked again, "Where is this place? Is this some sort of afterlife, or something else? Where on Earth am I?"

Elrond, master of ceremonies, was the first to answer. "No these are not the Undying Lands. This is the city of Rivendell, and I am its Lord. Introduce yourself, stranger."

The man looked at him oddly, "My name is – wait, did you say Rivendell?"

Elrond nodded impatiently, "Yes, Rivendell, and you have intruded upon our Council. Now what is your name?" Several of the Council members tightened the grips on their weapons.

Though his body shifted to a crouch in subconscious response, the man's expression could only be described as one of stupefaction. "Lord of Rivendell… no way… Oh!"He cried as he caught sight of the pedestal and what had been placed on it. "No way! You have got to be kidding me!"

Gandalf the Grey was the one to step forward, a determined expression on his face. "You recognize this, then?"

The man looked up at him, mindless of the danger. "The One Ring, right? And all of you are trying to decide how to get rid of it?" His face lit up, "Ooh, can I be on the Fellowship?"

"Fellowship?" Elrond seemed torn between simple confusion and outright fear of what this strange man might know.

"Oh, right, sorry, haven't gotten there yet." He cocked his head, "Mind if I stick around for a bit?"

Now it was Elrond's turn to be astonished at the strange man's presumption. At length he recovered, but Boromir had answered where he could not. "You certainly shall not! This is a Council for the leaders of men, dwarves and elves. Who are you, that you should be privy to our secrets?"

The man quirked an odd smile. "Boromir, right?"

The man of Gondor nodded uncertainly.

"Your Dad's a real jerk, you know that?"

Boromir went for his sword.

"Wait! Sorry, that probably wasn't the right thing to say. Look, I know he sent you here with orders to retrieve the Ring regardless of the Council's decision, but he doesn't realize that puts your life along with the lives of everyone else here in grave danger."

Boromir had paled rapidly as the man spoke, and when he finished sat heavily on his chair. Many members of the Council were looking at him now, in anger or consternation.

Gandalf brought their attention back to the odd visitor. "And how is it, stranger, that you know of such things? By what power did you unlock such secrets, and what strange sorcery brought you to this chamber?"

The young man looked up at him. "Where I'm from, everyone knows your story, Mithrandir – or should I say, Olórin?"

He grinned as Gandalf paled, though his expression faltered when Gandalf leveled his staff at him. "Where did you hear that name?"

"I already told you. Where I'm from, everyone knows your name." His gaze shifted to the hobbit sitting behind Gandalf. "And you must be Frodo Baggins. It's a pleasure to meet you. Tell me, what did you think of old Tom Bombadill?"

The hobbit looked at his oddly, "Tom Bombadill? Never heard of him."

Gandalf had recovered somewhat, "Though they passed quite nearly to his dingle on the Withywindle river, none of us encountered Tom on this trip."

That seemed to shake the man, "You never met – wait… oh that is so unfair! How did I get stuck in the movie universe?"

Elrond looked at the odd stranger in consternation, "This land is not Movie, but Middle Earth. Now would you please introduce yourself?" He snapped, his patience worn thin.

"Fine," the young man conceded. "My name is Harry Potter, and I'm a wizard."

Gandalf looked askance, "A wizard? You are none that I know of!"

"Yes, a wizard, and you don't know of me because I'm not from Middle Earth."

"Then how did you come to this chamber, to interrupt our Council?"

Harry sighed and mopped his brow, "Now that's a long story."

"Indulge us," Elrond said flatly.

"All right. Erm, where to begin? You see, where I'm from isn't Middle Earth, but just Earth."

"Just Earth?"

"No, Earth. Just Earth. Ah! My planet is called Earth, no 'Middle' involved."

"Wow. How original," one of the dwarves groused.

"I see your point. Now, where I'm from, there are no elves or dwarves – well, wait, I suppose that isn't really true, is it?" He said to himself. "There were those cupids Lockhart hired in second year… not to mention the house elves." He chuckled. "What Dobby would have paid to see this!"

"Dobby?"

"My house-elf?"

"Your house-elf?" The elves started to look riotous.

"No, that came out wrong. Yes, he's a house elf, but he's not really an elf, more of a brownie?" At this they just looked confused, "Okay, small creature, like a hobgoblin, works in exchange for magic?"

"You call a hobgoblin an elf?" If anything this seemed to offend them even further.

"Ah, it's just what they're called! I don't know why!"

At his antics, some of the men seemed to chuckle, and Aragorn bade Legolas and his kinsmen to sit down and listen in peace.

"All right," Harry breathed, "where was I? Okay. So, in this Earth, we don't really have elves or dwarves like you do, or at least we don't see them much. Most of the population are men, just ordinary people, but scattered through the world are secret societies of wizards. And no, we aren't servants of the Valar, and we number considerably more than the few who sit on the White Council. We're just ordinary humans who can access magic."

At this Gandalf looked at him curiously, "What sort of magic?"

"All kinds, really. For instance…" Harry whipped out his wand and conjured a comfortable seat beside Elrond's chair at the head of the Council. "That's better."

Gandalf's eyebrows were precipitously high after that little demonstration.

"Anyway," Harry continued, "before I was born there was a prophecy made, that I would be the one to vanquish this seriously evil wizard named Voldemort. He attacked me when I was one year old, and was somehow defeated. I became known as the Boy-Who-Lived, because surviving him was a pretty big deal, and he became a wraith, waiting to return and strike at me again."

He took a deep breath, "After my parents died, I was placed with my relatives, who were pretty majorly manaphobic."

"Manaphobic?" Gandalf asked. "I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that word."

"I made it up actually. Seemed to fit my relatives: it means they hate magic. Needless to say, my life was pretty miserable until I was eleven, when I was finally told I was a really famous wizard and could now start my magical education. Unfortunately, school wasn't much better than home, since I was put into life-endangering situations with alarming rapidity, and most of my peers seemed to change their minds every other week about whether I was Merlin reincarnate or the next Dark Lord."

"Merlin?"

"Oh, sorry, forgot you weren't British; he was this wizard who was responsible for a magical Golden Age about a thousand years back. Ridiculously famous and beloved by everyone, apparently."

"So… they couldn't make up their minds about whether you were a good guy or bad guy?"

"Exactly. I got all kinds of nicknames – Boy-Who-Lived is only a start. Of course, after I finished off Voldemort for the last time I got tagged with another moniker: Man-Who-Conquered."

"Man-Who—"

"Just Harry, thank you. You have no idea how old that got. Anyway, I got tired of the Wizarding world, and decided to leave Britain and join the muggle – sorry, nonmagical – world for a few years. That's when I saw the movie – my cousin Dudley had left the books out for me one summer, so I'd already read the story."

"Wait, movie? What does that mean?"

"Not important. Although," he stopped, "have any of you heard the name Tolkien?" At their blank looks, he shrugged, "Well, I guess there's my answer. Anyway, to finish up, about five years away from the Wizarding World behind, a new dark wizard crops up and everyone starts looking for me to fix it. I refused, things got messy, and before I knew I was arrested and thrown into Azkaban."

"Azkaban?"

"Prison island in the middle of the Ocean. Cold, stormy, windswept, and guarded by demons."

"Demons?" Everyone looked appalled.

"Technically dementors, but same difference. They're these unkillable monsters that drain the life and happiness right out of you. If you stick around for too long, you start to lose all of your happy memories. Of course, that's not to mention what happens when you really piss them off, since they're able to suck your soul right out of your body. Called the Dementor's Kiss. Not a big fan, myself."

Now their expressions ranged for horrified to queasy.

"Anyway, after about a month in Azkaban, they brought me out and gave me one last chance to fight on their behalf. Of course, part of that deal meant taking a magical oath that would strip me of my free will, so it didn't take long for me to refuse. That's when they decided to chuck me in the Veil."

"Veil?"

"Big archway with really creepy curtains. It's a few stories beneath the Ministry offices – they use it to execute prisoners."

"Wait, curtains? That sounds like what we saw when you came through."

"Really? Mind if I have a look?"

Boromir looked at him oddly, before nodded uncertainly.

Harry whipped out his wand, "_Legilimens!_" Boromir stiffened, but after a minute or so they both relaxed.

"That was... a very odd sensation," Boromir noted, rubbing his forehead.

"Sorry about that, I tried to be gentle. You're right though; what you saw was almost exactly the same. I wonder if the Veil is actually some sort of dimensional portal…" he trailed off as he saw everyone look at him oddly. "Never mind, not important. Oh!" He suddenly thought. "Now I remember what I was going to do. Lord Elrond, before I came along, you were about to say something?"

Elrond looked at him in disbelief, "If you think—"

"Well, fine then, I'll finish for you. Gimli," Harry said, addressing the dwarf, "you can't break the Ring with your axe. The only way to destroy it is to cast it into the heart of Mount Doom, where it was forged." At Elrond's dumbfounded expression, "You forgot: I basically know everything there is to know around here."

Gandalf spoke, "If this is true, will you help us destroy it?"

Harry turned to him, "Of course I will. It's just nice to have an invitation." He glanced at the Ring, "Mind if I have a look?"

Without waiting for his reply Harry started casting all manner of magic at the Ring, murmuring as he went. "Let's see, area-effect aggression charm, small-scale compulsion – ooh, that's useful, an invisibility charm – and check out the power readings on this thing! Merlin, this must be several orders of magnitude more powerful than even the Resurrection Stone! Ah-ha! And there is it. He looked up triumphantly. "Gentlemen, dwarves and elves, we have ourselves a horcrux!"

Gandalf had stepped towards him in concern, "What do you mean by a horcrux?"

"Oh, a horcrux is a soul anchor: you tear off a fragment of your soul and bind it to an object, and until it is destroyed you're unable to be killed. Sauron pumped a lot more power into this thing than I'm used to, but all magic has its price, so its otherwise impervious physical protections are linked to its vulnerability to the fires of the forge that made it."

The grey wizard looked at Harry with concern, "Be careful, young man, lest you be tempted by the power the One Ring possesses. It can…"

"Oh, don't worry about me. The area-effects and compulsions just bounce off my Occlumency shields. Now, how about we get rid of it?"

Elrond had again recovered, "And how do you propose to do that?"

Harry seemed to think for a minute, before grinning. "Ooh, I know. Although…" he turned to Elrond with a more serious expression on his face. "I apologize for the request, but could I take a look at your memories?"

"What?" Again the young wizard had confounded him. "My memories? What do you think—?"

"Oh, I know it's intrusive, but I need to get to a particular location, and I don't particularly fancy walking there." At Elrond's skeptical expression, Harry seemed to make a snap decision. "Fine." He whipped out his wand, "I, Harry James Potter, do pledge on my magic and my life that I mean no harm to Elrond, Lord of Rivendell, nor to anyone who seeks the Ring's destruction, so long as they mean no harm to me." As the magic flared around him, he looked the elf-lord in the eyes. "Is that good enough for you?"

Elrond was still wary of the young magician, but out of reflex nodded. He caught himself before he could nod again.

"Good enough. _Legilimens!_" Both of them stiffened. No one moved, fearing that any interference would release the unknown wizard from his oath. A minute passed, then another. Sweat began to drip down Harry's brow. Finally both men collapsed in on themselves.

Elrond was the first to recover, "By all the powers of the Valar, what was that?"

"As I said, I needed to look through your memories," Harry said unrepentantly. "Though I gotta say, working with the mind of an immortal elf is quite a bit different than most minds I've had to deal with." He shook himself. "Anyway, thanks for the help."

Without further ado, he rose and grabbed the Ring from its pedestal. "Be right back." And then he disappeared.

Gandalf gasped, "No! Harry! You said you were immune - how could you succumb to its power? Harry, take off the ring!" He started sweeping the open areas of the Council chambers with his staff, and the others began to follow his lead.

A minute later, Harry reappeared, then looked oddly at the grey wizard. "What are you doing?"

Gandalf grabbed his robes and got in his face. "You said you were immune! How could you put it on? Where is it, where is the Ring?"

Harry shook himself, "I don't have it." Gandalf gasped. "Wait, you thought I had put it on?" And then he started laughing.

Gandalf looked flabbergasted as Harry continued to laugh. When he didn't stop, Gandalf tried to call him back, "Harry, Harry! Look at me. Where is the Ring? How did you disappear if you did not put it on?"

Finally Harry pulled himself together. "I'm sorry, it's just – well, I'd forgotten how different your magic is than my own. You see, I didn't disappear. I apparated."

Harry waited, obviously expecting a reaction, but didn't get the one he was hoping for. Instead it was Frodo whose question cut through the sea of blank looks. "Apparated? What's that?"

Harry chuckled and, turning, placed a hand on the young hobbit's shoulder. "That, mister Frodo, is something that has saved you a lot of time, trouble, and at least one of your fingers. You see, in my world, wizards are capable of teleporting themselves many hundreds of miles in not so much as a second. It's a skill called apparition, and it's actually quite common. What I did, was take the memory of Mount Doom from Elrond's mind, apparated there with the Ring, threw it in, and came back."

At that the very ground began to shake, a low rumbling growl. Everyone grasped their chairs in a panic.

"Don't worry, I expected that. You see, the Ring itself was so powerful, that its destruction will trigger the whole of Mount Doom to erupt. That will in turn cause the Eye of Sauron, the physical manifestation of his wraith, to explode as well, destroying the tower of Barad-dûr and causing the whole of Mordor to sink into the earth. That's why you're feeling this earthquake."

By the end of his tale everyone was staring at him mouths agape. Harry's smile quirked a bit. "Any questions?"

No one responded for nearly a minute. Then two small hobbits came running out from behind the pillar.

"Hey Frodo! Does this mean it's over?" The wide eager eyes of Merry and Pippen looked around at each of them. "Can we go home now?"

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A/N: This was inspired by all those fics that don't seem to consider how the rules of magic they establish will affect the worlds they build and the plots they write. If Frodo could apparate, the "Lord of the Rings" would be a very short story indeed.


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